


Miasma

by Bearslayer



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Nygmobblepot, Season 3 episode 5 spoilers, Unbeta'd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 04:50:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8314534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bearslayer/pseuds/Bearslayer
Summary: Edward contemplates post-party.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I was forced to put this up by @dantereznor . 
> 
> Jerk <3
> 
> Originally posted on http://mindlessgothamite.tumblr.com
> 
> Where I accept prompts!

Edward Nygma gently stroked the deep, muddy bruises marring the pale skin of his neck as he sat patiently on the couch inside Cobblepot Manor. Staring deep into the fire, he attempted to clear his head. Whether it was the very recent choking or the less recent stint in Arkham, the stream of consciousness that flowed through his mind was more like the bursting of a dam then the steady, gentle stream he assumed passed through those of the 'sane'. Ed had learned, though, over the years, how to pick and choose what to focus on, delicately plucking from the miasma inside what was most needed, most important.

Tonight, like many other nights, that focus was on Oswald.

Oswald. His savior. His friend. Unwilling friend, at first, but over time the bond they shared strengthened to a level that he would have never imagined before.

Edward never expected anything good from his fellow human. He had often been scorned, ridiculed for his genius and admittedly anti-social tendencies. He never expected that the other man would do everything he did for him, not without a motive. He knew Oswald was looking for an anchor after the passing of his mother, someone or something to latch on to, and the assumption that Ed made was that Oswald simply used him for this purpose.

But was that all? Was Oswald using him? Or was there something genuine there that he couldn't recognize? Something that Edward had never been privy to; caring, admiration... Something more?

“... with honey. My mother's remedy for a sore throat.” The gentle voice of his companion cut through his thoughts, a delicate breeze against the mess pulsating in his head. “You sure you don't need a doctor?”

“I'm fine.” Edward answered; the act of speaking hurt, but pain had never bothered him.

“I still don't understand why you didn't tell me what you were doing.” Oswald stared at him, eyes bright in the firelit room.

In the moment that it took for him to answer, a thousand doubts pummeled him. Why had he done it? Was he really trying to help? Perhaps some part of him secretly meant what he said to Butch. Perhaps some day soon he would betray this man, who had given him his life back. Perhaps the act he had put on to trick the henchmen had some root in reality, and the pain in Oswald's eyes would be his fault some day.

“Your shock, when seeing Butch, had to be genuine. The people had to believe it. And they did. And once again, you are the city's hero.” Edward spoke to shake himself from his thoughts, mostly, and because the way Oswald stared warranted some sort of answer.

“You were almost killed.” Oswald whispered to him. Staring into his eyes, Edward saw the same terror that had gripped the small man more than once before. The doubts began to crumble, the tempest inside beginning to calm as a direction made itself clear. He needed to remove that pain, that terror.

“And you saved me. Again.” Just like so many times before. Oswald had saved him from Arkham, and was now saving him from himself. For the first time in longer then he could count, Edward spoke without thinking, without turning the words over again and again before letting them out. “I hope you know, Oswald... I would do anything for you. You can always count on me.”

And as Oswald's face softened and his eyes became glassy with unshed tears, Edward knew it to be true. The stark fear that had gripped his chest when he thought Butch would carry through with the false plot to kill, the genuine joy when they sang together, the way that the thought of the other man centered him when his brain was a frenzied cacophony; Edward needed him. He needed Oswald in a way he had never known before.

Oswald pulled him into a tight hug, slender arms gripping him as he mumbled a thank you into his ear. 

“Oswald...” Edward returned softly, leaning back just enough to see the other man's face, arms still wrapped around him. 

“Eddie, I...” Oswald began.

But now wasn't the time for words. Pressing his lips to his, Edward held Oswald close. All at once, the waves of madness coursing through his mind silenced, and in the gentle firelight of the den, Edward felt something he had never known before.

Peace.


End file.
